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“Are you o…”
Whatever he was saying, he never got a chance to finish as I pushed up on my high heels and kissed him.
Right there in the middle of the dance floor, I pressed my lips to his. It wasn’t an erotic kiss or a seductive one.
I had to.
If I didn’t kiss him, I was going to scream.
Instead, I kept my lips melded to his and clenched my eyes shut. Unable to get close enough or deep enough into this boy, I reached around and fisted his hair, keeping our lips fused together.
No.
It’s not enough.
You need to do more.
You need to speak up!
Finally, when I felt like my lungs would explode from the effort it was taking to hold my breath, I released him and exhaled a ragged breath.
His gray eyes were locked on mine but neither of us spoke a word.
Instead, we just stared at each other, both clearly reeling in the moment, in our feelings, in each other.
“Claire.” He shook his head ever so slightly, almost like he was disagreeing with something internal happening inside of his mind. “What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.” He eyed me warily. “Tell me.”
“I, ah…” I tried to smile, but I could barely get my lips to rise. “I…” Just say it, dammit. Just take his hand and run. Save him, Claire! “I’m just happy to be here with you, Gerard.” The words tasted like betrayal on my tongue, because while there was no lie in what I told him, it wasn’t enough.
“Claire.” His lips parted and I watched as he licked his lips before dragging the bottom one into his mouth, teeth grinding furiously against the plump skin. It wasn’t a method of seduction. It was a quirk of his. One he performed when he was anxious.
Because this was scaring him.
He was afraid of what was happening between us.
Me.
I was scaring him.
We were still dancing, moving in harmony to the music playing around us, but I wasn’t here on the dance floor with him.
Instead, I was traveling back in time, mentally reeling as every quirky thing he’d ever said or done finally snapped into place like a heartbreaking jigsaw.
For most of his life, Gerard had been trapped in a room in his head, while I had been banging on the door, desperately trying to break him out.
Because his past was his prison, and our love was his getaway car.
I know, I mentally told him, I know, and I believe you, and I will fight to the death to get justice for you.
“Claire.” His hands were on my shoulders, gliding up my neck before settling on either side of my face. “I love you.”
My breath hitched in my throat because I knew what was coming.
This time when our lips collided, we weren’t frozen still or stuck in an internal war because a decision had been made.
